This is not your typical lovey-dovey facebook post saying how amazing my husband is because of the fabulous gift he bought me, or because he cleaned the house, or sent me flowers. (Yeah, right.)
This is a post to say my husband is amazing because he changes crappy pants.
I hate, despise, and just am sick-and-tired of washing out poopy pants. I'm sure he is too. But lately, when I see that awkward I-just-crapped-my-pants pose, I may glance in my husband's direction to see if there's a chance I could play it off. "What? He pooped his pants?..."
I am sure Travis knows my evil scheme. In fact I'm sure he has probably tried it on me too. You see, it's just a phase I'm going through. I'm sure I'll be back to my usual underwear rinsing self soon enough. In the mean time, I have an amazing husband.
Sunday, February 26, 2012
Tuesday, February 21, 2012
Thinking out loud.
Alright I know I just posted about not fretting. But you know that that's really just not possible when you have a child with special needs. If I didn't fret a little here and there, I would never make any decisions.
So here is a snippet of me thinking out loud, mostly fretting.
Waylon turned five in December, and has been in Preschool since he turned three. He has also been in some sort of ABA program (autism therapy) since shortly after he turned three, and he has done great with this routine. But it's time for kindergarten.
Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeekkkk!
I know most moms freak out a bit about kindergarten, but I'm here on behalf of all moms of kids with special needs to say, I AM FREAKED OUT.
Waylon has bonded really well with his teachers, paras, tutors, speech pathologists, and occupational therapists. He has made huge progress. But you just can't keep a kid in preschool forever. I understand that. (Although I can envision an Elf scene where an adult Waylon er... Will Farrell is scrunched up with a bunch of little tykes around the mini preschool tables.)
Prior to our change of plans (I like calling Waylon's diagnosis that; I think I will continue) we were going to send all of our children to Catholic school. We both went to Catholic school as kids, and we send our oldest to Catholic school. My mom is his teacher, I am on the school council, and the whole place is like a second family. (Truth is, we are closely or distantly related to at least 1/4 of the kids there.)
There happens to be a contained classroom 30 minutes away, provided by the school district, where his current (phenomenal) speech pathologist also works (lessened separation anxiety). Some of the kids there are much more severe than Waylon, and some seem to be further ahead than Waylon. They spend the morning working on skills appropriate for their level, and the afternoon they go to first grade groups (P.E., computers, music) for social interaction. We have met the teacher and principal, observed in the classroom, and mulled over it in our heads for hours. It seems to be a wonderful place, staffed by 5-6 specially trained adults at a time.
Here's how it breaks down as I see it:
Contained Classroom: Well trained teacher/therapists/paras, working to help Waylon academically, in a classroom with other kids with special needs, 30 minutes away.
Typical classroom at the Catholic school: Teacher (Grandma), may not have a para, limited special education resources, and no specialized training, but lots of love in a "normal" classroom setting with his cousins and siblings and lots of people who love him to pieces and have a sincere desire to see Waylon learn and grow.
One last caveat: somehow we need to work in time to continue ABA (autism therapy). It's important, because unlike wherever we choose for kindergarten, they don't work on academics. They work on helping Waylon learn to interact with others, behave appropriately, and communicate.
But how do we go to full-day kindergarten and still find time for ABA?
Hmmmm....
FAQ's:
Q: What's the big deal about this contained classroom?
A: It wasn't in the plan. Still suffering from a little denial.
Q: How do we know Waylon won't do well in the typical classroom until we try?
A: Well the odds are highly stacked against us, not to mention, it takes months to evaluate Waylon, plan an IEP, implement it, and record results. All the meanwhile we are using his kindergarten year as a trial-run.
Q: Why can't you get a para in the Catholic school?
A: I think that is fishy also, I'm working on that one.
Q: Why can't you try the public school?
A: Public schools scare me. We love the catholic school because we want him to be a part of the big happy family there. And if that's not possible, what does a public school have to offer?
Q: Why can't you do half day kindergarten and half day ABA?
A: Well, which half of the kindergarten day should we cut- morning academics? Or afternoon social time? Both very important for Waylon.
I plan on uncovering every stone and exploring every route to find the perfect placement for next year. We'll keep hashing all of this out in our heads a thousand times a day; In the meantime, feel free to comment below with your thoughts.
So here is a snippet of me thinking out loud, mostly fretting.
Waylon turned five in December, and has been in Preschool since he turned three. He has also been in some sort of ABA program (autism therapy) since shortly after he turned three, and he has done great with this routine. But it's time for kindergarten.
Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeekkkk!
I know most moms freak out a bit about kindergarten, but I'm here on behalf of all moms of kids with special needs to say, I AM FREAKED OUT.
Waylon has bonded really well with his teachers, paras, tutors, speech pathologists, and occupational therapists. He has made huge progress. But you just can't keep a kid in preschool forever. I understand that. (Although I can envision an Elf scene where an adult Waylon er... Will Farrell is scrunched up with a bunch of little tykes around the mini preschool tables.)
Prior to our change of plans (I like calling Waylon's diagnosis that; I think I will continue) we were going to send all of our children to Catholic school. We both went to Catholic school as kids, and we send our oldest to Catholic school. My mom is his teacher, I am on the school council, and the whole place is like a second family. (Truth is, we are closely or distantly related to at least 1/4 of the kids there.)
There happens to be a contained classroom 30 minutes away, provided by the school district, where his current (phenomenal) speech pathologist also works (lessened separation anxiety). Some of the kids there are much more severe than Waylon, and some seem to be further ahead than Waylon. They spend the morning working on skills appropriate for their level, and the afternoon they go to first grade groups (P.E., computers, music) for social interaction. We have met the teacher and principal, observed in the classroom, and mulled over it in our heads for hours. It seems to be a wonderful place, staffed by 5-6 specially trained adults at a time.
Here's how it breaks down as I see it:
Contained Classroom: Well trained teacher/therapists/paras, working to help Waylon academically, in a classroom with other kids with special needs, 30 minutes away.
Typical classroom at the Catholic school: Teacher (Grandma), may not have a para, limited special education resources, and no specialized training, but lots of love in a "normal" classroom setting with his cousins and siblings and lots of people who love him to pieces and have a sincere desire to see Waylon learn and grow.
One last caveat: somehow we need to work in time to continue ABA (autism therapy). It's important, because unlike wherever we choose for kindergarten, they don't work on academics. They work on helping Waylon learn to interact with others, behave appropriately, and communicate.
But how do we go to full-day kindergarten and still find time for ABA?
Hmmmm....
FAQ's:
Q: What's the big deal about this contained classroom?
A: It wasn't in the plan. Still suffering from a little denial.
Q: How do we know Waylon won't do well in the typical classroom until we try?
A: Well the odds are highly stacked against us, not to mention, it takes months to evaluate Waylon, plan an IEP, implement it, and record results. All the meanwhile we are using his kindergarten year as a trial-run.
Q: Why can't you get a para in the Catholic school?
A: I think that is fishy also, I'm working on that one.
Q: Why can't you try the public school?
A: Public schools scare me. We love the catholic school because we want him to be a part of the big happy family there. And if that's not possible, what does a public school have to offer?
Q: Why can't you do half day kindergarten and half day ABA?
A: Well, which half of the kindergarten day should we cut- morning academics? Or afternoon social time? Both very important for Waylon.
I plan on uncovering every stone and exploring every route to find the perfect placement for next year. We'll keep hashing all of this out in our heads a thousand times a day; In the meantime, feel free to comment below with your thoughts.
Monday, February 13, 2012
I'm a planner.
I'm a planner.
Our calendar (which is busting at the seams, it seems) is checked every morning with the necessity of fresh underwear, and I live by a mini-itinerary each day (or else I would forget where to go). I have known since about age eight how many kids I was going to have, where I was going to live, and what kind of car I was going to drive. (Remember M.A.S.H.?)
That's what's really annoying about autism.
It wasn't in my plan.
Similar to the crap in his pants as we were walking out the door this morning.
As I bend over the toilet bowl rinsing out underwear, I mutter a little prayer "Lord help me to accept the things I cannot change..." No sense in fretting, right?
Occasionally people say, "He's five and he's not potty trained?" Yeah, I know. That wasn't part of my plan.
Here's what else is really annoying about autism: It makes it hard to plan.
Who is the mom who calls hotels to see how high their deadbolts are off the ground? Me. Who is the mom who knows the location of and can covertly maneuver past every claw machine in the tri-county area? Me. And who is the Mom who has learned wills and trusts to make sure her kids will be taken care of forever? Me.
You see, from deciding what we're having for supper to deciding how much to put in the 401k, it makes it really hard to plan.
Nobody gets the cookie-cutter life they imagined. I'm ok with that. And my kid isn't going through chemo treatments right now, which I am so unbelievably thankful for. I count my blessings and thank God for each of them daily. And I firmly, and probably selfishly, believe that He has blessed me more than most.
Turns out, I am not in charge of my plan.
Our calendar (which is busting at the seams, it seems) is checked every morning with the necessity of fresh underwear, and I live by a mini-itinerary each day (or else I would forget where to go). I have known since about age eight how many kids I was going to have, where I was going to live, and what kind of car I was going to drive. (Remember M.A.S.H.?)
That's what's really annoying about autism.
It wasn't in my plan.
Similar to the crap in his pants as we were walking out the door this morning.
As I bend over the toilet bowl rinsing out underwear, I mutter a little prayer "Lord help me to accept the things I cannot change..." No sense in fretting, right?
Occasionally people say, "He's five and he's not potty trained?" Yeah, I know. That wasn't part of my plan.
Here's what else is really annoying about autism: It makes it hard to plan.
Who is the mom who calls hotels to see how high their deadbolts are off the ground? Me. Who is the mom who knows the location of and can covertly maneuver past every claw machine in the tri-county area? Me. And who is the Mom who has learned wills and trusts to make sure her kids will be taken care of forever? Me.
You see, from deciding what we're having for supper to deciding how much to put in the 401k, it makes it really hard to plan.
Nobody gets the cookie-cutter life they imagined. I'm ok with that. And my kid isn't going through chemo treatments right now, which I am so unbelievably thankful for. I count my blessings and thank God for each of them daily. And I firmly, and probably selfishly, believe that He has blessed me more than most.
Turns out, I am not in charge of my plan.
Tuesday, January 24, 2012
Playing Catch Up
So I realize I may have left some of you hanging. This blog is supposed to keep you updated on the happenings around here, and we've been through quite a little journey this fall/winter, none of which I have blogged about.
Waylon turned five a few weeks ago, and next year he is off to kindergarten, which seems so unreal.
We will be saying goodbye to the amazing preschool teachers and therapists we've had and diving into the scary world of kindergarten. I know it doesn't seem like such a big deal, but it is weighing on us more heavily than we thought it would.
You might have noticed my facebook post asking for prayers a while back (you probably did, judging by the fifty million phone calls and messages I got to make sure we were all ok). No one was dying- it was just the night before a rather stressful meeting with teachers, therapists, psychologists, and administrators from four different school districts, which I happened to be freaking out about. It seems a little silly now, because I'm really not the type to post sappiness on facebook, but those fifty million responses were just the reassurance I needed to get myself through that meeting the next day, and I appreciated each one of them.
And the meeting went great. I didn't even cry, which I was pretty stinking proud of myself for. (IEP meetings tend to get a tad emotional- if you've experienced one, you understand.)
And so far, we are just weighing all of our options, and making lots of phone calls and visiting lots of places to find out what is going to be the best fit for Waylon next year.
And as far as Waylon goes, he has been just absolutely great. Obviously, he is oblivious to the changes of next year. And for now, he is on this amazing streak of words. He is saying new ones all of the time, and even stringing them together. Of course, a lot of his spontaneous things are still just echoic responses- he knows when he hurts someone to say, "You okay?" and occasionally he'll run into a room and throw up his arms and say, "Ta-Da!" Just things he has heard and repeats, but it's cute as all get-out. And of course it melts my heart when I say "Love you" and he echos in his mumbly little voice, "Love you too."
As for me, most of you know, I graduated nursing school. I'd like to think that means blog entries will be coming out of the chute more frequently now, but I'm not willing to make any promises. It definitely means that I have more time to focus on the kids, and I have been able to be a bigger part of Waylon's daily schedule and working on his plans for next year, of course mixed in with a little job hunting.
And, I should add, we took this amazing vacation after Christmas to celebrate all we have accomplished this year. BUT that is a blog for another day...
Waylon turned five a few weeks ago, and next year he is off to kindergarten, which seems so unreal.
We will be saying goodbye to the amazing preschool teachers and therapists we've had and diving into the scary world of kindergarten. I know it doesn't seem like such a big deal, but it is weighing on us more heavily than we thought it would.
You might have noticed my facebook post asking for prayers a while back (you probably did, judging by the fifty million phone calls and messages I got to make sure we were all ok). No one was dying- it was just the night before a rather stressful meeting with teachers, therapists, psychologists, and administrators from four different school districts, which I happened to be freaking out about. It seems a little silly now, because I'm really not the type to post sappiness on facebook, but those fifty million responses were just the reassurance I needed to get myself through that meeting the next day, and I appreciated each one of them.
And the meeting went great. I didn't even cry, which I was pretty stinking proud of myself for. (IEP meetings tend to get a tad emotional- if you've experienced one, you understand.)
And so far, we are just weighing all of our options, and making lots of phone calls and visiting lots of places to find out what is going to be the best fit for Waylon next year.
And as far as Waylon goes, he has been just absolutely great. Obviously, he is oblivious to the changes of next year. And for now, he is on this amazing streak of words. He is saying new ones all of the time, and even stringing them together. Of course, a lot of his spontaneous things are still just echoic responses- he knows when he hurts someone to say, "You okay?" and occasionally he'll run into a room and throw up his arms and say, "Ta-Da!" Just things he has heard and repeats, but it's cute as all get-out. And of course it melts my heart when I say "Love you" and he echos in his mumbly little voice, "Love you too."
As for me, most of you know, I graduated nursing school. I'd like to think that means blog entries will be coming out of the chute more frequently now, but I'm not willing to make any promises. It definitely means that I have more time to focus on the kids, and I have been able to be a bigger part of Waylon's daily schedule and working on his plans for next year, of course mixed in with a little job hunting.
And, I should add, we took this amazing vacation after Christmas to celebrate all we have accomplished this year. BUT that is a blog for another day...
Thursday, January 19, 2012
A trip to Goodwill
Yesterday afternoon Rose and I found ourselves wandering Johnson County again, waiting for Waylon to be done at school. So we took a trip to Goodwill for a little bargain-shopping.
A few hours into our shopping experience, we decided to meander to the front of the store and get in line, so we could meander our way back to pick him up. A woman came in the store, following a boy who was pretty much running. He was bouncing up and down, eyes wide with excitement. (Obviously he was as excited about the Goodwill as I was.)
His mom (I'm assuming?) said "Wait" and he blurted out in his excited, but dysphasic voice "WAIT" and when she, in her mother-of-a-special-needs-kid way, herded him out of the way of others and said, "Come here, Ben," he blurted out an echo- "COME HERE, BEN."
Of course, I knew. In my mother-of-a-special-needs-kid way, I just knew.
First reaction- fascination. Second reaction- compassion.
I failed to mention that this "boy" was probably in his late teens, maybe even a young adult. I tried my darndest not to stare (I know what those daggers feel like) but immediately some fifty thousand thoughts flooded my mind, and I couldn't help it.
How old is he? How well does he function? Does he still live at home? Where does he go to school? What kind of therapies did they try? What worked? What didn't? I need to know!!!
When I realized I was probably staring, I realized what she saw in me at that moment, because I too, have had those thoughts- who do you think you are, with your cute little girl on a cute little shopping trip? You don't understand!
Oh, but I do understand, and I wanted nothing more than to run up and give that lady a big hug, and then bring her home with me and pour her a cup of coffee and sit and talk for hours.
But, obviously, she had a bit on her plate at that moment.
Perhaps too, years of those trips had given her the grace and strength to ignore those staring daggers. Perhaps she and her son were out for an enjoyable afternoon shopping trip. And perhaps they had a wonderful time.
I'm gonna hang on to that thought.
In the meantime, as I spend countless hours on the road to and from Waylon's therapies, I daydream and contemplate and pray, about where that fascination and compassion will lead me. I feel as though Waylon and this world of autism have given me some sort of a greater purpose- but I have yet to figure it out.
I'll keep you updated.
A few hours into our shopping experience, we decided to meander to the front of the store and get in line, so we could meander our way back to pick him up. A woman came in the store, following a boy who was pretty much running. He was bouncing up and down, eyes wide with excitement. (Obviously he was as excited about the Goodwill as I was.)
His mom (I'm assuming?) said "Wait" and he blurted out in his excited, but dysphasic voice "WAIT" and when she, in her mother-of-a-special-needs-kid way, herded him out of the way of others and said, "Come here, Ben," he blurted out an echo- "COME HERE, BEN."
Of course, I knew. In my mother-of-a-special-needs-kid way, I just knew.
First reaction- fascination. Second reaction- compassion.
I failed to mention that this "boy" was probably in his late teens, maybe even a young adult. I tried my darndest not to stare (I know what those daggers feel like) but immediately some fifty thousand thoughts flooded my mind, and I couldn't help it.
How old is he? How well does he function? Does he still live at home? Where does he go to school? What kind of therapies did they try? What worked? What didn't? I need to know!!!
When I realized I was probably staring, I realized what she saw in me at that moment, because I too, have had those thoughts- who do you think you are, with your cute little girl on a cute little shopping trip? You don't understand!
Oh, but I do understand, and I wanted nothing more than to run up and give that lady a big hug, and then bring her home with me and pour her a cup of coffee and sit and talk for hours.
But, obviously, she had a bit on her plate at that moment.
Perhaps too, years of those trips had given her the grace and strength to ignore those staring daggers. Perhaps she and her son were out for an enjoyable afternoon shopping trip. And perhaps they had a wonderful time.
I'm gonna hang on to that thought.
In the meantime, as I spend countless hours on the road to and from Waylon's therapies, I daydream and contemplate and pray, about where that fascination and compassion will lead me. I feel as though Waylon and this world of autism have given me some sort of a greater purpose- but I have yet to figure it out.
I'll keep you updated.
Friday, December 30, 2011
Pizza
No time for a long blog post today... But I wanted to share a bit of Waylon's recent amazing progress with you all.
Last night he came up to me and said, "Come on, pizza."
Of course he wanted me to get him a piece of leftover pizza from the fridge.
He is surprising us with new words all of the time lately; I promise an update soon to fill you all in!
Last night he came up to me and said, "Come on, pizza."
Of course he wanted me to get him a piece of leftover pizza from the fridge.
He is surprising us with new words all of the time lately; I promise an update soon to fill you all in!
Friday, October 21, 2011
School pictures
Waylon's school pictures are here, and they're amazing, so I thought I would share:
Man I would have loved to be a fly on the wall on preschool picture day. I am picturing five preschool teachers dancing and making crazy faces, one holding him down, and I'm sure he's not wearing shoes or socks. Maybe not even pants.
I'm calling the school office this week to order more!
 |
| Amazing, right? |
Man I would have loved to be a fly on the wall on preschool picture day. I am picturing five preschool teachers dancing and making crazy faces, one holding him down, and I'm sure he's not wearing shoes or socks. Maybe not even pants.
I'm calling the school office this week to order more!
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